Die Liebe ist ein wildes Tier (Love is a Wild Animal)
by Lucas.Gagnon
Summary: My take on what happened to Wolfgang's mother. A series of one shots focusing on her backstory, as well as her relationship with her Cluster and Wolfgang. Rated T for domestic violence, language and mature subject matter.
1. Tell Mama

Nightmares had plagued Wolfgang for as long as he could remember. When he was very young, his mother used to calm him down by singing to him. Still now, even as an adult, every time he woke drenched in sweat he swore he could hear her. Her voice would hum softly in the recesses of his mind, urging him back to sleep. In some ways, it was as if she never left.

If he hadn't connected with her in a while, she was bound to turn up soon after a nightmare. It was almost as if she knew that he needed her, even if he was far too proud to admit it.

It was on a Sunday afternoon that they finally connected again. It had been over six months since he'd last seen her and even that meeting had been cut short, nipped in the bud by the chaos that his cluster was experiencing.

Sunshine poured in through the open blinds in her hotel room. She sat upright in her bed, nose deep in a book. Wolfgang tried not to focus too hard on the cover, which pictured some bare-chested guy in a cowboy hat.

Before Wolfgang could knock on the open door, her eyes rose to meet his. She stowed the book by her side and gave him a smile. _"Meine liebe."_

He rested his forearm on the door frame and said, "Hey. Where are you?" Concern darkened his face when she gave the space next to her a pat.

She shook her head at his sudden worry. The corners of her mouth turned up as she said, "I'm safe. I just want to see my baby."

Sinking into the bed, still cautious, something happened he did not expect. His mother wrapped her arms around him, pulling his head to rest beneath her chin.

Mind struggling to remember the last time she held him, his muscles tightened. He must have been a young boy, maybe six or seven. The decades that separated him from this memory seemed endlessly vast; a chasm of ache and broken apologies. Her warm embrace was so familiar, like coming home after a long trip away. Even so, he fought the urge to relax completely.

"You seem more...calm since the last time we met," she said. "What happened?" Wolfgang tried to suppress the memory of marigold and dark hair but she sensed it anyway. She let out a small laugh. "A _girl._ I like her, she has a beautiful smile. So why do you look-"

Wolfgang's reply was curt, cutting her off. "I let her go." He knew his mother was a stronger sensate than he'd ever be, and hiding things from her had always been hard. Still, he'd rather Steiner rise from his grave and stab him than talk about Kala.

"And why would you do that?" His mother chastised. She slipped into his sub conscious again, looking for her answer. She found it with ease. "Ah...but she doesn't love him."

"I know." Wolfgang shifted his weight with unease, then again asked, "Where are you?"

"I'm close," she reassured him. "But they're still looking for me. You know I can't tell you."

His voice softened. "I know."

A long silence followed. Finally, voice gentle with pride, she said, "You're so strong." A hand caressed the back of his head. It took a lot of effort for him to not drift off. "All these years, you've done nothing but protect us." She paused. "Protect me."

Worry rushed back in and his eyes flew open, staring unfocused at her feet.

 _Where is she going with this?_

"Lord knows you've made some hard choices. There were no easy answers but you always did what you had to. I'm so proud of you for that."

Wolfgang's heart battered his rib cage. _Does she know?_

He was certain she could feel him trembling and she held him tighter. Loving kisses met the crown of his head. "Wolfgang...what you've done doesn't scare me. You're my son and I'll always love you."

The image of him setting fire to that car rose up in his mind but it was a forced memory, like watching a movie. She was showing it to him. Relief grew thick in his throat and he bit his bottom lip. The harder he tried to hold back the welling in his eyes, the more violently he shook. His emotions were easy to mask, at least to others, but feeling hers as well was unbearable.

All hope was lost when he felt her chest dip sharply. Her voice broke through her tears and she whispered the two words he never thought he'd hear:

"Thank you."

He turned into his mother's neck, finally allowing her to hold him as he broke down and cried.

 _But give me a chance, I'm begging you_  
 _I just wanna take care, take care of you._  
 _Tell Mama all about it._  
 _Tell Mama what you need._  
 _Tell Mama, and I'll make everything all right._

 _\- The Civil Wars, Tell Mama_


	2. Love is a Wild Animal

**Die Liebe ist ein wildes Tier / Love is a Wild Animal**

Trigger Warning: Domestic Violence

Bettina grit her teeth and stared down the bull in front of her. The clock behind him read 02:40. The neighbours were going to call the cops. Again. "You're going to wake him," she warned.

"Fuck him!" Anton spat. "Who gives a shit?" He took a drooling swig of his beer before continuing. "After what he did to me? He's lucky I didn't-"

Heat flushed Bettina's cheeks and she cut him off, tone menacing. "Don't. Threaten him."

"How else is he gonna learn? I should have started years ago. Now thanks to you, he's a sensitive bitch."

Bettina's eyes narrowed. "Shut your mouth. He's just a kid, they both are. You know they like to play jokes."

"Jokes?" Anton's voice bordered a hysterical growl. "That was supposed to be _funny_?"

"To him, I could see how it would be." She tried to repress her smile, remembering Anton's face when he unwittingly set off the clump of cherry bombs that were waiting for him in the bathroom. A sense of pride filled her. _Didn't I do the same at his age?_

Anton's eyes morphed slowly from frustration to a cold sort of understanding. He spoke in a hushed tone, snark laughter choking his words. "You're getting off on this." He took another drink, slamming the empty bottle down on the table. "You always defend the little shit and now here you are, smiling like I'm fucking stupid." With effort he stood, swaying a little. Taking haphazard steps toward her, his heavy hands curled into fists. The eerie smile that filled his face a moment ago had been wiped away. "Do I look like I'm stupid?"

A cold shiver inched up Bettina's spine. With every step he took, she took one in the opposite direction until her back hit the kitchen wall.

Anton's hulking arm levelled across her neck, pinning her.

Even though she was trapped, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "Look at you. You're a mess. And you ask me this?" Her laughter rang out, dry and cutting.

Anton's free hand slammed into the poorly finished wall behind her.

Bettina blinked and everything was dark around her. She could vaguely make out the familiar shape of a child's bed. Fear laced her. "No." She spoke to the small figure in the dark. "Don't-"

At the same time she was also in the kitchen, Anton's hot beer breath on her face. "That's right. Beg."

Two figures stood on the opposite end of the kitchen. One was Wolfgang. The other, her friend Yrsa.

"Shut him out," Yrsa warned. "You're his mother. You're stronger than him. _Shut. Him. Out._ "

In her son's room, she pulled the blankets up to his chin. His pensive stare was locked on her.

In any other circumstance she could sever the connection between her and her son with ease. Yet regardless of how hard she tried this time, she felt him merge with her. The sensation of cold adrenaline flowed between them, and his anger seeped into every muscle in her body. "Go to sleep," she whispered. She smiled, although she knew it didn't reach her eyes.

A rough hand clamped down on her throat and squeezed.

"Shut him out!" Yrsa commanded.

"I can't!" Bettina snapped, voice pitching under Anton's grip.

Her shaking hand rose to caress the boy's forehead, which was cold with sweat. "I'm okay," she soothed. "Let go. You don't want to feel this."

He shook his head, icy eyes certain far beyond his years and said, "Neither do you."

 _Die Liebe ist ein wildes Tier / Love is a wild animal_  
 _Sie beißt und kratzt und tritt nach mir / It bites and scratches and kicks towards me_  
 _Hält mich mit tausend Armen fest / It holds me tightly with a thousand arms_  
 _Zerrt mich in ihr Liebesnest / and drags me into its love nest_  
 _Frißt mich auf mit Haut und Haar / It devours me completely_  
 _und würgt mich wieder aus nach Tag und Jahr / and retches me back out after many years_  
 _Läßt sich fallen weich wie Schnee / It drops softly like snow_  
 _Erst wird es heiß dann kalt am Ende tut es weh / First it gets hot, then cold, in the end it hurts_

 _\- Rammstein, Amour_


	3. Dirty and Smiling

Bettina Bogdanow  
July 1994

Wired from lack of sleep, Bettina stood at the kitchen table. Proof of Anton's rage littered the chipped wooden top in the form of sticky beer bottles and overflowing ashtrays. With a roll of her eyes, she dragged herself to the garbage can and dumped one of the ashtrays. She threw it back on the table and sat down, one leg propped up on the chair closest to hers.

She lit a cigarette, careful to avoid the swelling bruise on her lip. Purplish markings tangled around her neck and back but she hardly noticed. These sorts of wounds had become commonplace. In the Haus of Bogdanow, your character was judged by your ability to take a punch.

She exhaled, watching the thick string of smoke dance in front of her. Her mind drifted listlessly to the others in her cluster. Their presence could be felt inside her chest, a vibrating string connecting her to each of them, yet there was only one that she wanted to see.

A gentle hand snaked its fingers between hers and held tight. Cool, fresh air tickled her nose. The chair she was sitting on felt as if it was made of ice.

"Safija," Bettina sighed, letting out a feeble laugh.

Safija looked around the room before settling her gaze back on Bettina. Her green eyes were taught with worry. "You look..."

"Like shit," Bettina finished. She took another drag.

Safija smiled sadly and nodded.

The two women also sat on a frozen hill, looking over a city. Despite her dower mood, Bettina felt her spirits lift at the view of the magnificent skyline. "This is your favourite spot, isn't it?" She took in a deep breath through her nose, letting the crisp air fill her lungs and exhaled slowly. "Sarajevo is beautiful from up here."

"I like this spot because you can't see the gunfire. The city just looks so peaceful," Safija said. Her voice softened. "It's not safe for me here. Maybe I could go there? To Berlin?" She turned her gaze down to their interlaced hands and gave a small shrug.

Bettina scoffed softly. Her hand tightened around Safija's. "It's not exactly safe here either," she said.

Back in Berlin, there was a moment of heavy silence, followed by Safija resting her head on Bettina's shoulder. When she spoke, her tone was hushed. "Something happened with your son."

Bettina's chest tightened. The word felt jagged on her tongue. "Yeah."

"I could feel it, last night," Safija said. "And I feel it now."

Bettina cleared the lump from her throat, her free hand tightening around the hem of her shirt. Words failed her but their connection allowed Bettina to open her mind to the woman. She relaxed as Safija experienced her memories of the previous night, and what she planned to do about it.

A small smile formed on Safija's face and she said, "You can beat yourself up all you want but in the end, you always make it right. And I'm going to be here with you while you do it." She put a finger to Bettina's chest, tapping where their invisible wire connected them.

* * *

Bettina was pensively perched in the expensive leather chair for what felt like hours. Every soft click of the grandfather clock to her left seemed fewer and farther between. The Bogdanow Mansion spared no expense, especially not in the room the help had seated her in.

She examined the room, feeling out of place much like she always did every time she went there. It had an arched ceiling which swooped down to meet rows upon rows of books. An ornate wooden staircase lined the outer wall. Scotch glasses sat next to a full bottle of liquor on the gold trimmed table in the centre of the room.

She was pulled from her thoughts by a woman speaking from somewhere above her. "Sorry to meet in here."

Her sister-in-law, Elizaveta, looked down on her.

Elizaveta's gaze felt cold, like a snake sizing up its prey. She gracefully descended the staircase as she spoke. "My study is currently being renovated so Sergei's will have to do."

"That's fine," Bettina said. She tried to hide it but the sour tone still seeped into her voice. She stood, brushing off the stray hair that had fallen onto her jacket and squared her shoulders. "I need to talk-"

"This place is gaudy," Elizaveta interjected. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs to give the room a contemptuous glance. "Sergei has always had terrible taste."

Bettina glared and said, "Cut the shit, Elizaveta. We both know why I'm here."

The mafietta smirked, taking her time as she seated herself in the chair across from Bettina's. She crossing one long leg over the other and lifted her chin. Cold blue eyes slackly took in the ugly marks covering Bettina's neck and face. "I think we do," she agreed. "Sit down."

Bettina remained standing.

Elizaveta laughed softly. It sounded grating against Bettina's ears. "There's no need to be upset," she said. "You should be proud."

Bettina's lip rolled up into a sneer. "Proud?"

Smile lukewarm, Elizaveta said, "Well you're still standing, are you not? My skin is far too fragile. I'd be bedridden for a week." She tapped the air with her dainty index finger and continued, declaring, " _Moya milaya_. What you need is a drink."

She had just uncrossed her leg and started to stand when Bettina's voice cut through the air.

"I don't need a drink," Bettina spat, fire on her breath. "I need you to sit down and shut the fuck up."

Elizaveta's eyes shot daggers through Bettina but she stayed silent, seating herself again.

In the corner of the room stood Safija. The look on her face reassured Bettina, steeling her nerves, and she turned her attention back to Elizaveta.

"For years now I have taken this family's shit and smiled," Bettina said. She did her best to keep her voice steady. "And every time it happens there is a new record of how low he can go. Anton throws an ashtray at my head? I say nothing. Anton slaps me? I say nothing. Anton beats me _so hard_ he breaks my ribs? I say nothing."

"I smile through the pain. I tell the doctors I'm clumsy. That I was drunk, and doing something reckless." She pointed viciously to the hand marks on her neck, then jabbed her finger at Elizaveta. "But I'm running out of excuses. And _you_. You've known this whole time and acted like this is nothing major. Even when, years ago, I came to you crying because Anton had ripped me up so hard I-"

Elizaveta squeezed her eyes shut and held up her hand, whispering, "Don't be crass."

"Crass?" Bettina snapped. Her voice raised to a shout. "This is my fucking life, _milaya_. And now it's my son's, too." She paused for a moment, cool eyes taking in the shocked look that Elizaveta tried desperately to hide before adding, "That's right. My boy."

"What do you want?" Elizaveta asked. A desperate note clung to her voice. "What do you expect me to do about it? You don't think Steiner got the same treatment?"

Bettina shook her head, eyes wide in disgust, and said, "Not like this and you know it." She was suddenly reminded of the leather straps under her jacket. They felt heavy, weighted with the lengths she may have to go to. With a deep breath she commanded, "You're going to convince Sergei to lift my debt. I want a divorce."

Elizaveta raised a skeptical eyebrow. Bettina rushed to continue. "It's been eight years. That's more than enough time, don't you think? It's simple, Veta. Just talk to Sergei."

Elizaveta nodded thoughtfully, lips pursed. A tense moment of silence passed before she asked, "And what makes you think that he will listen to me?"

Words failed Bettina. Why should Segei listen to her?

She was about to reach into her coat, ready to persuade Elizaveta at flashpoint, when Safija's voice stopped her. "Bettina, don't. Use your words."

Taking a deep breath, Bettina steadied herself. She sat tall in her chair and said, "Because you're Elizaveta, the eldest child of Artyom Davydov. When you were twelve, you held the position and power that Sergei had to inherit when he became an adult. Even then he was sloppy, he fumbled and made mistakes. But you..." She shook her head, smiling. "You were a natural." She paused. "Remember that story you told me? From when you were sixteen?"

Elizaveta's posture softened, eyes full of reminiscence. She smirked. "The warehouse."

"Yes," Bettina said with a grin. "Of all the men in that warehouse, you were the one to take the first swing at that snitch. No one wanted to go first but you did it."

She shifted her weight and leaned in slightly, speaking low. "Look, Veta, I know things are different now. You aren't just The Davydov Girl anymore. You're Elizaveta Bogdanow but that _you_ inside, that sixteen year old who hacked tirelessly at eight different fingers, is still there." She shrugged, adding, "What's a few words in comparison?"

Nodding slowly, Elizaveta said, "This is true. All right, I will try." She paused to take a breath. Her eyes steeled slightly again. "But I require your honesty in return. Let's say, I am unsuccessful. What then?"

Bettina gave her a stiff look, dodging the question. "And as well as the divorce, Anton will grant me full custody of Wolfgang."

Elizaveta's eyes flashed dangerously. Even though they were filled with an unspoken understanding, she spoke slow, asking, "Surely you cannot mean that you would kill him?"

Bettina's palms began to sweat, panic gripping her. She hid it quickly before Elizaveta noticed her change in posture and took a cleansing breath. She relaxed her face and said, "I'm just hoping that Sergei would listen to you, but if not, maybe karma will sort things out for me. After all, Anton does have a dangerous job..." She let her sentence trail off, her eyes hardening with resolve as she shrugged.

"I see." The words were cut short with disappointment. "Well, if these are your demands then I am deeply sorry, but I cannot help. Anton will never give you custody."

"Oh no..." Safija breathed from across the room.

Full of regret, Bettina sighed, "That's too bad. I understand. Thank you for your time." She stood, extending a hand for Elizaveta to shake. She did not take it. "I'm sorry it had to come to this."

Elizaveta's voice was insincere, tainted with disgust. "As am I."

Bettina slammed the study doors open and made her way briskly toward the foyer of the mansion. It was at least a two minute walk and she knew she'd have to rush if she was going to make it.

A door shut somewhere out of sight ahead of her but she ignored it.

Elizaveta's voice boomed, ricocheting off the high arched ceilings and into the corridor. "Search her!"

"There's no more time," Safija said from Bettina's left, voice muted. "They've locked the front door."

The sound of boots on hardwood floor fast approached behind her. Grimacing, Bettina dug inside her coat, flicked the safety off on her handgun and turned.

The first bullet ripped through the bodyguard's gun hand and he fell to the ground screaming. Another bodyguard came around the corner and Bettina fired at him, missing by a foot. Cursing, she ducked into an open room and waited.

Heavy footfalls approached hesitantly. When she sensed that he was right outside, she turned around the corner and fired point blank into the bodyguard's face. Hot blood splashed her, barely missing her eyes. She ran out of the room and further down the corridor in a zig-zag motion.

A bullet flew over her head and she returned fire over her shoulder. She was unsure if she had hit her target until she heard a horrid cry, like a puppy being stabbed.

A washroom came up on her right and she entered, locking the door behind her. The washroom was lavishly decorated, complete with a black marble sink with white swirls and a full sized window that hung above the matching bathtub.

Acting quickly, she pulled off the screen just as a key turned in the lock. Without looking back she put her gun just outside of the windowsill and hoisted herself up.

She was leaning halfway out the window when a rough hand grabbed her ankle. Her gun hand acted on reflex and grabbed her firearm. Leaning halfway out the window on her stomach, she twisted around to put the gun in her captor's face.

It was Elizaveta. Killing the guards had been easy for Bettina, they meant nothing to her. Yet as she stared at her sister-in-law, shaking from adrenaline and rage, she couldn't bring herself to pull the trigger.

Elizaveta's blue eyes were unflinching. She spoke quietly, an eerie warning for Bettina. "If we see you again we will kill you. If _anything_ happens to Anton, we will kill you." Bettina glared at her and tried to climb further out but she was stopped by the woman's firm grip. "And one more thing," she said, shaking the leg she was holding. "If you take Wolfgang, we will kill him as well." There was no hint of a bluff in her face; her jaw set and eyes glinting.

Bettina grit her teeth, heavy, uneven breath falling through her nose. Her heart raced, her mind unsteady but she kept herself as still as possible. Her hands were starting to shake from holding herself up so long.

Finally Elizaveta let go, nodding toward the window. Her last words to Bettina were, "I'm sorry it came to this."

Bettina ran until she reached the highway. Cars were passing every thirty seconds or so and she tried frantically to flag one down. She knew that Elizaveta's grace was hers alone, and that Sergei would still have men looking for her. With any luck, they'd think she was still inside the house. She could count on Elizaveta to keep her secret - she had as much to lose if she admitted it as Bettina did.

After several minutes of waving and screaming, a taxi pulled over onto the shoulder. The man, short and balding, got out. He walked around to Bettina's side of the car, driver's door still hanging open. Bettina could see the keys in the ignition.

"Are you okay?" He asked, eyes wide at the sight of her, covered in blood and panting.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. She pulled out her gun and held it to the man's chest, "but I'm going to need your taxi."

The man stood, frozen in shock, as Bettina walked around to the driver's side and slid into the seat. Dust kicked up behind her from the shoulder as she peeled away.

She was on the highway for about twenty minutes before her nerves finally began to relax. A sign on her right read _'Willkommen zu Michendorf'_ but she didn't stop. She wasn't sure where she was going, just that she had to keep moving.

She focused as best she could through her racing thoughts on the memory of her son's laugh, as it often connected her to him. After a long moment she felt herself split in two: in the taxi, and in his room.

His toys were scattered around him. Wolfgang was on the floor, his head down as he played with his chessboard.

"Hi baby," she said. Her voice was coarse.

Wolfgang looked up, horror rippling across his face at the sight of the blood. "What happened?"

The more she talked the harder it was to keep her composure but she fought through it. "I just came to say goodbye," she said. "Come give me a hug."

Hesitantly, Wolfgang stood and crossed the room. He hugged her as tight as he could. "When are you coming back?" He asked.

Bettina began to shake and she bit her lip. "I don't know." Then softer. "I don't know." She focused on his tattered _World Cup 1990_ poster that hung on the wall opposite her to keep herself from crying.

A loud crash came from downstairs, followed by a string of cursing and she gave him one last squeeze. "I love you," she told him, voice muffled by the crown of his head.

"Love you too," he replied. His voice was reassuring, like he was trying to make her smile, but she could still feel his fear. "See you s-"

The connection severed, leaving her with an aching hole where Wolfgang stood just a moment ago.

Her mind had finally caught up with her and the consequences of her actions booted her in the chest. Tears stung her nose and overflowed freely onto her lap.

Quickly pulling over onto the shoulder, her shaky hand put the car in park. She could hear wailing through her ragged sobs. It sounded vaguely like her own voice.

"Fuck," she screamed. Her palm violently struck the steering wheel over and over. "Fuck fuck! _Fuck!_ "

Safija's hand rubbed her shoulder gently and she took hold of it, grasping tight for anything solid to hold on to as she felt her last bit of control slip away.

 _I am not an angry girl  
But it seems like I've got everyone fooled  
Every time I say something they find hard to hear  
They chalk it up to my anger  
And never to their own fear  
Imagine you're a girl  
Just trying to finally come clean  
Knowing full well they'd prefer you were dirty  
And smiling_

 _\- Ani DiFranco, Not a Pretty Girl_


End file.
